The heather grew sparse and yellowed around us, and was replaced by short plants with spiky leaves we didn’t recognize. We came to a dry wadi bed when the sun had more than halfway completed its descent from the sky. Here at least there was the smell of oleander, which I knew. We followed the wadi until we found a pool of clear water, and decided to stay there until we knew which way to go next. The map Saoud had from his father went no further than the border, such as it was, and we couldn’t go into the desert until we knew which way to find water.
The pool was sheltered from view, but Saoud took no risks by camping close to it. Instead, we went several hundred steps down the wadi until he found a cave hollowed out by floodwaters where we could be concealed. He checked the cave carefully, looking for traces of snakes or burials, and found none. This was good news in that it meant we could stay there, but discouraging all the same: if no one had ever lived here long enough to bury their dead, there was little chance we would be able to stay long ourselves.
There was nothing to burn, which was just as well. Fire in the desert was visible for a long way at night, and it was not the season for random brush fires. We had dry rations enough, though they were uninteresting, and even if it was a long walk to water we would not go thirsty. Still, I could not escape the feeling that we were exposed here, more exposed than we had been thus far, and it made me uncomfortable.
I set the thought aside when Zahrah took up Arwa’s needle again and began to sew. This time I was free to watch her work without worrying about instructing her. As I had seen when she repaired the fence, there was a calmness to her when she crafted. It was as though all of the pieces of her, carded and rolled when she was five, were finally being pulled from the distaff and spun into something useful and good. I tried not to think about who it was useful and good for, of course, because that is where the demon lurked. Instead I saw the girl my mother had loved, and the one in whom we had put all of our hopes. And she was beautiful.
Zahrah stitched three handspans’ worth and then set the work aside to wait. We tried not to make it too obvious that we were waiting, too. This time we were better prepared. She had eaten lightly before she began, the better to avoid last night’s terrible dry heaving, and I knew that she had made sure to drink water steadily all day. Her bed was ready, behind the screen she and Arwa had hung up when we were organizing the cave, and she had taken the precaution of setting the cooking pot nearby, just in case she could not make it to the mouth of the cave.
“Do you want to go outside?” I asked. “I can carry you back in, if need be.”
“Thank you, Yashaa,” she said, and took the hand I offered to pull her to her feet. She didn’t let it go when she was standing.
We walked along the wadi bed until we found a slope I deemed gentle enough to carry her back down if I had to. We climbed out and looked over the desert. The sunset here lit the sand with brilliant colors. It was as though we looked at all the beauty in the world, and yet I knew the world went on from where we were. In the direction of the sunset was Kharuf and Qamih, home and hunter, and the desert king ruled somewhere beyond our sight to the east and south, and some of the spinners from Kharuf were at his court.
The sky darkened, and Zahrah did not wilt. We waited, and the air cooled. The stars came out above us, shining as brightly and steadily as they ever had, and she was still beside me, her hand in mine, her breath a calm wave in the center of a brewing storm.
“Yashaa, we should go back,” she said when the night was fully dark. “The others will worry, and my head is starting to ache, though it is less tonight than it was yesterday.”
“All right,” I said. She kissed my cheek, and we stood. And froze.
We saw campfires, more than ten, spaced out like sentinels in the night. This was not a caravan, with its large central fire. This was not a lone shepherd keeping warm against the dark of night. This was the Maker King’s son, and the others who rode with him, and we were finally caught.
WE COULDN’T RUN. EVEN IF we knew the way to another source of water, we were traveling on foot. They would surely have horses, and a better idea of the land. We would only be able to go as far as our water skins could take us.
“This is not the cave I might have chosen for hiding,” Saoud said. “It’s not deep enough, and if we seal up the entrance, it will be obvious that the stones didn’t fall there naturally.”
“What if we made it look like a tomb?” Tariq suggested.
“It’s too risky,” I said. “It will be clear that the construction is new. And the Maker King’s son probably doesn’t care about the desert gods or the desert dead. He might take a look inside, just because he can.”
“So what do we do?” Arwa asked.
“I could go to him,” Zahrah suggested. I could tell her head was pounding, but she hadn’t vomited again, and her voice was steady.
“No!” That came from all of us at once, and was louder than we intended it. We all hushed ourselves immediately.
“No, Zahrah,” said Saoud. “We have not come this far to let you go alone now.”
“We’ll get as much water as we can,” I said, “and go to the back of the cave. We’ll be as quiet as possible and hope for the best.”